


Bar Company

by Worlds_Collided



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Crack!Pairing, F/M, Minor Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Worlds_Collided/pseuds/Worlds_Collided
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time she saw him, she was mesmerized. Tall, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and well dressed. Sure these were all qualities that Jo Harvelle saw quite frequently - with those first three bits of information you could assume she was talking about Sam - but what had truly caught her eye were the wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bar Company

The first time she saw him, she was mesmerized. Tall, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and well dressed. Sure these were all qualities that Jo Harvelle saw quite frequently - with those first three bits of information you could assume she was talking about Sam - but what had truly caught her eye were the wings. Broad with clean, pure white feathers that were so numerous she couldn’t have counted every one if she had all the time in the world. Even curled up and nestled against his back comfortably, she could tell that they were long enough to stretch out several feet to either side of him and were probably more than strong enough to shield him and another person from danger if he were so inclined to.  
  
She wasn’t really sure how long she had been standing there since she walked back into the bar, drinks sitting on the tray perched on her shoulder, but she guessed that it was probably a long time, especially when her mother stepped up beside her, nudged her elbow against her ribs and told her to move her ass, that they were busy and she could space out later.  
  
She blinked several times, her jaw snapping shut - when had it fallen open in the first place? - and she took the last few steps over to the table where he was sitting, on the outer portion of his side of the booth, with Castiel sitting at his side and Sam across from him, with another man she didn’t know and Dean sitting beside him. Dean is seated against the wall, across from Castiel - who she now realizes was also pressed against he wall, in an effort to be directly across from Dean - and the man in the middle looks squished, but not output, with the way he leans against Sam and casts him smirks and offering something from his pocket.  
  
Of the group, only Sam notices her approach, everyone else too invested with the conversation floating around the table, and raises a hand to her, rising from his seat, “Jo!”  
  
Jo can’t help the smile the spreads across her face as she reaches the table and almost instantly the tray is taken from her, placed on the table, and she’s pulled into a hug that sweeps her off her feet, dangling in search of the ground below, his arms squeezing around her middle as she squirms and bats at his shoulder lightly, “Okay, okay, Sam! Put me down now!”  
  
Sam laughs, putting her back on her feet, and waves off the scowl that has found its way onto her face. She opens her mouth again, to tell him off, but is quickly cut off when she’s pulled into a second crushing hug, by Dean. He squeezes a little tighter, but leaves her on her feet, thankfully.  
  
"Alright, let go!" Jo shoves him back when his grip loosens, gaining her freedom at last, and is grateful that Castiel doesn’t hug very often - or at all, as the case may be for her - and the other two men don’t seem to be the creepy type that hugs anyone they meet.  
  
The boys settle back into their booth, and it’s now that she notices the other man also has wings. His are smoothed against his back in a slightly neater fashion than the man with the white wings, though the feathers are also a little more ruffled. They appear to be just as long, but, in contrast to the pure white of the first man, this one’s wings are a beautiful golden brown at the top and fade into a deep red at the very bottom, the color of the feathers blending in to give his wings a cohesive gradient look to them.  
  
Once back in his place, Dean pulls her from her thoughts again, saying her name with a bit more teasing undertone than she cared for, and motioning to his side where the brown-winged man is sitting, “Jo, this is Gabriel-” The man - Gabriel - grins up at her, briefly, to acknowledge her presence, and then goes on to pass out the drinks she had brought to the table with her. With a flick of his wrist, Dean motions to the first strange man she had noticed several minutes ago. “And Michael.”  
  
Michael tilts his head towards her, offering a small smile that she returns before his attention is shifted towards Castiel when Dean motions to him next and goes on, “And you already know Cas.”  
  
Jo waves lightly at Castiel, mostly use to the way he doesn’t exactly look up at her, but rather down at the table and then up in her general direction, though his eyes quickly dart to Dean, as he greets her with a simple - almost classic for the awkward angel - “Hello, Jo.”  
  
His wings, for her at any rate, are less noticeable. Probably because she’s been looking at them for years now. She’s seen the dark feathers ruffled and stained in blood when Dean dragged him in for medical help, and neatly groomed after he gets out of a shower Sam insisted he needed, feathers slick with moisture. She’s even seen them wrapped protectively around Dean when they sleep together, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder and his wings obscuring the best viewing angles of the sleeping love birds. On occasion, she’s even seen them extended over Sam, offering him shelter when he’s weary, or keeping him safe from the pouring rain that would threaten his good health.  
  
She would have to admit that the last two were her favorite. She considers him a friend and he always seems happiest when he’s with Sam and Dean, when he can wrap his wings around them and keep out all the things that would cause them harm.  
  
"Hey, Cas," Jo fights the urge to follow his lead and let her own eyes settle on the man she was interested in. The last thing she wants to do is give Dean any ammunition for teasing. God knows that the childish man would jump at the opportunity to make her turn red like a tomato and would probably bring up the crush she had on him in the process.  
  
Castiel settles back into his seat - he had leaned forward against the table to look past Michael at her - and retrieves the glass that has been slid near him on the table, pulling it to the edge of the table and curling his fingers against the wet surface. He turns his head towards the others as the conversation drifts on around him, seemingly content to listen to the voices of his friends and family as they spoke in pleasant tones.  
  
And Jo really couldn’t be happier for him or Dean. It went mostly unspoken by any of them, but it wasn’t a secret that the two had begun something that could be likened to a relationship. In reality, it was about damn time they did.  
  
"So, you boys here on a job?" Jo questions, ignoring the no-you-can’t-come look that Dean gives her before answering.  
  
"Just finished one," He states, taking a drink from his glass. "Werewolves and vampires." The last bit brings her mind to Twilight territory and she has to bite back a laugh at the thought of them fighting off pretty boy knockoffs of the real frightening creatures.  
  
Instead, she shifts her weight to the side, putting one hand on her hip and picking up the tray with the other, tucking it against her side, under her arm. “And it took you both _and_ three angels to finish that job? You guys’re getting soft.”  
  
The comment incites a soft chuckle from Michael, who doesn’t even show any reaction when Dean glares at him, and a snicker from Gabriel. The latter leans against the table, sliding his glass to his side so he wouldn’t knock it over. “Now, now, Deano, no need to be embarrassed. We all have bad days, you know.”  
  
"Yes. Gabriel and I barely did anything, anyway," Michael offers, his voice carrying every bit of condescension that Gabriel’s had, and the patronizing smile on his face making it sound even more obvious that it already did.  
  
Jo laughs, the bubbly sound drawing Michael’s attention, his eyes fixed intently on her, and Dean throws a few peanuts from the bowl sitting in the middle of the table at her, “Don’t you have something you’re supposed to be doing?” He asks, lightheartedly, as she jumps back in vain to avoid the nuts that hit the front of the apron around her waist and fall to the floor with a soft clatter.  
  
"She does, actually," Jo jumps, a small yelping noise escaping her, and spins around, taking a step back to stand by Sam. Ellen doesn’t exactly look happy that her daughter has been there longer than necessary, and looks even less happy that Dean just threw trash on her floor. "Joanna Beth, get back to work, now!" Taking the younger blonde by the shoulders, she guides her out towards the bar, pausing after a step or two to turn back towards the table, pointing firmly at Dean. "And don’t you _dare_ leave that in my floor, boy. I’m not your maid, pick it up!”  
  
Dean pauses, wide-eyed, an eruption of laughter around him - even Castiel was joining in. He groans aloud, dropping his head towards his glass, grumbling under his breath, barely seeing the peanuts that almost roll off the edge of the table into his lap. Looking up, he notices that Michael had retrieved the nuts and was now smirking at him from his corner of the booth. “Shut up, man.”  
  
  
  
The next time she sees him, he’s only with Gabriel. And looks considerably less comfortable, his wings fidgeting against his back like they’re itching to spread out in freedom, but he won’t let them due to the lack of space. She had spent the last several months peppering Dean, Sam, and even Castiel with questions about this mysterious Michael that they had brought in and found out a lot about him. She now knew he was an Archangel, that he was considerably older than she would have thought, that he was older brother to Castiel, that he was currently in the form of a young John Winchester, and that he was the keeper of Heaven, with some help from Gabriel.  
  
They aren’t exactly busy, only a few hunters have taken a place at the bar where Ellen is tending to them, and Jo quickly makes her way over to where her mother is wiping the counter down, leaning across the surface. She casts a glance over her shoulder to where Gabriel and Michael have seated themselves at a table against the wall, talking amongst themselves, and when her head turns back to her mother, she gives her a questioning look, an eyebrow raised.  
  
Ellen finishes cleaning the place on the counter and busies herself cleaning other things like glasses while she waits for someone to need a refill. She doesn’t say anything, neither does Jo, just goes about her business and pretends not to notice the way Jo is almost constantly looking over her shoulder at the conversing Archangels.  
  
Finally, she sighs, putting the glass she had been wiping down on the table, and looks hard at her daughter, “Jo, what are you doing?” She asks, a little annoyed, and does well not to show any signs of her amusement when her daughter snaps her head back around.  
  
"Nothing," She responds far too quickly, standing back up straight and running her hands down the front of her clothing, smoothing out the fabric. Ellen shakes her head, reaching over and retrieving a small notepad with a pen, dropping it onto the counter in front of Jo. Her eyes drift to something behind her daughter and she nods her head out towards the tables against the wall.  
  
Picking up the offered items, Jo twists around to see that Gabriel had begun requesting some attention, his hand risen in the air and both men’s eyes locked on the mother-daughter duo. “Best get goin’, Jo,” Ellen states, smiling at her daughter.  
  
Jo feels heat creep up and can only imagine the bright red color her face has taken on as she makes her way over to the table. She offers a small smile to the Archangels, “Need somethin’?”   
  
Michael looks up at her for a moment, then looks away, like he’s silently pleading with Gabriel for some reason or another, but his younger brother shows no signs of giving in to him, instead nudging his foot under the table, nodding towards the waiting blonde. Finally, Michael makes a noise that reminds her of a wounded animal, still not meeting her heavy gaze as it rests on the top of his head, “Beer. Two.”  
  
Gabriel shakes his head, rolling his eyes in exasperation, and tacks on a ‘please’ to the end of his brother’s request with a pleasant smile that Jo returns before leaving the two alone again. She can’t see the duo, but can practically feel the eyes that settle on the back of her head as she returns to the counter where her mother is waiting for her, telling her to take care of the two herself as she heads to help a man at the end of the counter with his hand raised.  
  
By the time she returns to the table, glasses in hand, Gabriel is gone, his seat considerately pushed in against the table, and Michael looks less comfortable than he did when she first noticed him, not even bothering to acknowledge her when she sets the two glasses on the table, pulling one of them to himself and taking a drink from it.  
  
Jo put her hands on her hips, leaning over the table to look at his face, brown eyes meeting in the space between them, and gives him the brightest smile she can muster, “Everything okay?”  
  
She watches his eyes flicker ever so slightly, presuming that he’s studying her face, his brow crease, and she would _swear_ that she saw his mouth twitch in the restraint of a smile, “Yes.” He responds, carefully. A pause follows his reply and, as she’s straightening up to return to her mother, he motions to the empty seat across from him. “Sit.”  
  
"I mean," Michael blinks, breaking the eye contact completely, and turns his head to the side and back to her. She can almost see the war being raged in his head as he kicks himself mentally and searches for amending words. "Please, sit. If-if you have the time. I don’t think Gabriel is returning any time soon."  
  
Jo glances over her shoulder, spotting her mother still at the counter, talking with one of the patrons, tossing caution to the wind and taking a seat across from the Archangel.  
  
  
  
Jo sees him time and time again after that day. Sometimes he comes in with the rest of the group, a content presence settled within the confines of his support group, sometimes with Gabriel, exchanging playful banter about days they had long forgotten. And sometime he comes in alone, choosing a small table against the wall or sitting in the emptiest corner of the counter and waiting.  
  
She never quite figured out what he was always waiting for, but he seemed to forget it once she came over to ask him what he wanted. He always gave her a simple ‘beer’ in response and then asked her to sit with him when she came back with his glass. It was a little past time he seemed to enjoy, even if most of their conversations just involved her asking him an endless number of questions that he answered, with the patience of a saint.  
  
It isn’t until several months, and probably thousands of questions, later that he walks in, close to one in the morning, and takes a seat in the dead center of the counter, his hands clasped together on top of the surface, with eyes staring intently at his fidgeting fingers, that she realizes that maybe there’s a little more to his frequent visits.  
  
Not because of his new chosen location or that he has managed to wander in right as they’re getting ready to close up and send everyone off to their own business, or even that he seems to be oddly fascinated with the way his fingers thread together. But, rather, because of the way he awkwardly dips his head down when she walks by to gather the scattered glasses while her mother ushers patrons out of the door.  
  
Once the bar is empty, save for the rooted-to-his-stool Michael, Ellen nudges her daughter, taking the bucket of dirty dishes from her arms, and nods her head in his direction, “He looks like a man with something on his mind. Go talk to him, Jo.”  
  
Jo opens her mouth in protest, confused by the knowing look that Ellen gives her before taking her leave. She stares blankly after her retreating mother, who smiles warmly and offers a gently, almost motherly, ‘hello’ to the Archangel as she passes by him to clean the dishes that have been gathered.  
  
Furrowing her brow, Jo unties her apron and makes her way over to Michael. He doesn’t notice her and at first she wonders if she should just leave him be and go about her remaining duties. Then she notices that he’s mumbling under his breath to himself, and sounds rather distressed in his mutterings.  
  
Hesitating, she reaches out a hand, her urges getting the better of her, and drops it gently onto his back, where the left wing seems to sprout from no where, seemingly fading into nothing at the root of his back, and Michael jumps, startled, his wings extending on instinct, snapping out to full length in the blink of an eye, and knocking Jo away.  
  
Startled, Jo stumbles back, instinctively bringing up her arms in defense, eyes squeezing shut as she trips over her own feet and falls backwards. She heard - rather than saw - the flutter of wings, felt the brush of soft feathers against her arms, firm walls folding in around her and careful arms encircling her waist, pulling her forward and saving her from the potential fall.  
  
Her eyes snap open and she finds herself staring up into brown eyes, firmly trapped against a broad chest, with a cloud of white feathers wrapped around her protectively. Michael flushes with heat, clearing his throat, but makes no move to release her.   
  
"Would you… Like to get coffee with me?"


End file.
